Dear Henrietta, this is why I married your father.

[These are all things I overheard him say/sing to you on a single day: February 13, 2013.]

[picking you up] "Come here. I want to talk to you about something. I haven't decided what yet."  

"Let's hold one another. You start." 

[singing to the tune of "White Christmas"] "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,  and I'll have to wait a long time. When it's time for Christmas, we'll celebrate it on an isthmus ...." 

"The reasons for Christianity are as follows: 1. Jesus 2. Vlad the Impaler."

"Let's put your sock back on and then you can kick it off again, okay, little Syssaphys-y? Syssaphys-ette." 

"Should we listen to the State of the Union address, Kitty? Or should we just take a nap?"

[singing] "Oh my gosh, you are up in the air! Oh my gosh, you have a little bit of hair! Oh my gosh, you're getting eyebrows! Oh my gosh, you're getting eyebrows! Oh my gosh, let's go have daddy's head shrunk!"

[getting ready to play his guitar] "Let's see if you can figure out that in this case correlation and causation are in fact the same."

[when finished playing guitar] "I just thought I'd serenade you for a minute." [He pauses and leans down, as if listening.] "No, that's actually not a cross between Sara and marinade." 

"There's slime all down the side of your face. Let's wipe it off and then ... we'll take a nap!" 

"Oh, oh! I'm sorry that you are young and easily confused. Daddy is old and easily confused."

"You don't have to have [your pacifier] if you don't want it. No one has to do anything they don't want to do. Except for people who live in Russia. Or China."  

[wiping drool] "It's a full-time job just keeping you civilized." 

"Are you a person or a chimpanzee? Please clarify." 

You see, your dad is the most interesting person in the whole world, to me. And he makes me feel like the most interesting person in the whole world. If these words are any indication, I think he'll do the same for you. That, I think, is love. 

Happy first Valentine's Day.

Love,

Mom